


You and I

by Ephermeralk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Handcuffs, M/M, Panties, Rimming, sex in a (semi) public bathroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephermeralk/pseuds/Ephermeralk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean summons his alternate self from the Croatoan universe to look after Sam while he hunts down Abaddon. But first, he’s going to fulfill his ultimate fantasy—having sex with himself in a pair of pink panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: SPOILERS UP THROUGH 9.17, panties, hand-cuffs, rimming, anal sex, sex in a (semi) public bathroom
> 
> A/N: For [](http://big-heart-june.livejournal.com/profile)[**big_heart_june**](http://big-heart-june.livejournal.com/) who wanted End-verse!Dean to have sex with amazing Pool-playing!Dean as much as I did. Hope this is worthy of your absolutely stunning post!! Title stolen from Lady Gaga.

One second, Dean’s got the steady pressure of his brother’s—no, he takes that back, it’s Lucifer _wearing_ his brother’s white shoed foot pressing uncomfortably against his cervical vertebra in the middle of an un-kept garden of an abandoned psychiatric hospital. The next, he’s lying face down on a wooden floor. He tries to peel his cheek off the ground, but it sticks. Probably a combination of beer and bodily fluids by the smell of it. Dean hasn’t been to a bar in years; they all closed down not long after spread of the Croatoan virus. This place, this _bar_ , must be Lucifer’s last trick before he turns out the lights in Dean’s head.

“Just get on with it, kill me already,” he spits out from his place on the floor. He can still feel the solid weight of a foot pressing against the top of his spine. It feels different somehow though—like the traction of a boot perhaps instead of the smooth bottom of Lucifer’s white loafers.

“Kill you?” Dean hears a voice, his _own_ voice to be exact, say from above him. “Don’t you think that might be a little…” the voice pauses for a moment, leaning over him to flash an exact replica of his own face back at Dean “…counterintuitive?”

“I get it,” Dean says, “I lost. The colt can’t kill you. So what is this? A new trick, dressing yourself up as me? A nice afternoon in Lucifer’s sandbox playing dress-up? Because I can tell you right now that it ain’t gonna get you any favors. Despite your devilishly good looks.”

“Hmm,” his other-self says. “We are quite ruggedly handsome, aren’t we? But you’re wrong, Dean. I’m not Lucifer. I’m you.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, the other me is back on the ground where I knocked him out before coming to find you.”

A smug grin comes across his other-self’s face. “Strike two, Dean. That was 2009 me. I’m 2014 us.”

“Can’t be,” he says, lips still half pressed into the dirty floor. “There’s still…people here. If it’s 2014 where are all the Croats?”

“Well, you see, after I watched Lucifer ice you, or,” he stops to scrunch up his face in a moment of confusion “…us I guess, Zach zapped me back to 2009. Long story short, I got back together with Sam.  
And our brother, after saying ‘yes’ to Lucifer in Detroit managed to throw himself along with the devil back into the cage.”

“So our brother’s in hell, then?” he asks. It seems like he’s stumbled into just as shitty of a world as the one he just left. Yet another Earth without his brother.

“Fifty percent this time, Dean. Still a failing grade though. Our brother Adam’s still down in the pit. But Sam, not so much. Cas pulled his body back out, and later on Death took a short vacation to hell and returned his soul. So Sam’s fine. Mad at us right now, of course, but really, when isn’t he?”

Dean can feel himself shrug from the temporary relief on his neck. “Sam’ll get over it,” his other-self continues, “forgiveness is in his blood.”

It’s a lot of information for Dean to process, but the only thing that sticks is that Sam’s alive. Dean hasn’t seen his brother without Lucifer inside of him for over five years, and now that it’s a possibility, he desperately wants to lay his eyes on Sam. His pupils dart around the floor, trying to find Sam’s boots, or a hint of long legs from his current position. None of them match.

“Where is he?” he asks, “Where’s Sammy?” He doesn’t bother to hide the desperation in his voice.

“Not here. He’s out working a case.” His other self seems nonplussed, and Dean can’t fathom why he isn’t more concerned.

“Why aren’t we with him?”

“Sammy’s a big boy, he can take care of himself for a few days,” present-Dean says.

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s always done such a stellar job of that in the past. Getting himself stabbed, becoming addicted to demon blood… oh and have we forgotten saying ‘yes’ to the devil? Who, by the way, I’m supposed to take your word for, is not actually you.”

Now-Dean growls at him, clearly unhappy with his response, “Listen up Dean, because I’m gonna get tired of saying this real quick. I was there, back in the rose garden with you. And Lucifer—he snapped our neck in one lethal second. He put down his foot, and squashed the life out of us without batting even one of Sammy’s pretty eyelashes. So believe me when I say: I’m not Lucifer.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly trust myself. So what can you tell me that only we would know?” he asks, wondering if Dean will give the same answer the second time around.

Pink silk panties. Even now, the memory makes him gain a bit of thickness inside of his briefs. He subtly rolls his hips into the floor underneath him. There’s something about eluding imminent death that’s always made him horny…

The other Dean removes his boot from his neck then, and steps over his body, bending down to look him straight in the eye. He scrambles his way into a sitting position, trying to gain a little bit of dominance.

It’s obvious by the mirrored lines in his forehead and around his eyes that these last few years haven’t been any easier for this Dean than they have for him. This is not the same Dean who visited him and questioned his motives; this Dean’s breath reeks of whiskey half covered up by cheap beer. This Dean has killed not only monsters, but people as well. Just like him.

“Besides the pink silk panties that we liked wearing?” now-Dean asks him, bringing Dean out of his musings with a smirk plastered across his face.

“Yeah,” he states. “Besides that.”

“Hmm,” Dean pauses for a moment to think, “How about this: we’ve always wanted to fuck ourselves. See what it was like. The faces we make, how attractive we look while having sex. Mirrors and cameras just aren’t the same thing as being able to see it with our own eyes.”

Just hearing his voice drop as he talks about fucking himself makes Dean that much harder in his jeans. His thigh holster scrapes against the alcohol and dirt soaked floor, and his other-self chuckles, raising his eyebrows.

“See I know, you. Us. How we always feel after a near miss. All those times of stumbling back to the impala, barely able to stand but completely powerless to keep our hands off our brother. Waiting for Sam to pin us down against the trunk, and shove his dick in so deep we thought it might never come out.”

Him—the other him licks his lips, and Dean knows that his other self is getting off hard on that particular memory. He can’t deny the way his own ass clenches, remembering how he used to push Sam onto any cheap hotel mattress and climb on top of his brother. Slowly taking all nine inches of Sammy into his body. Letting Sammy thrust his hips up, burying himself until his sweaty balls were right against Dean’s firm ass.

He hasn’t allowed himself to think of Sam like that in years. Not since Detroit.

Present-Dean’s hands skitter down his sides, into his thigh holster, and then down to his boots. Divesting him of all of his weapons.

“Now, before we go find our brother, we’re going to play a little game of pool, just the two of us.”

Pool. Dean hasn’t played in years. Just like riding a bike, he hopes. _Or riding Sammy,_ the dirtier side of his mind supplies.

“And what do I get if I win?” he asks. He’s hoping for his weapons back. Even with all of his layers on, Dean still feels naked as hell without the comforting presence of a gun in his jeans and a knife in his shoe.

Other-Dean grins at him then, all teeth. He leans forward and bites the bottom of his ear, just the way that Dean likes it. Of course the bastard knows about how sensitive his ears are. Dean is _him_ after all. Apparently even in alternate universes their erogenous zones refuse to change.

“You get to fuck me,” Dean says, leaning back to watch for his reaction. He doesn’t give his other-self anything. Not a twitch of his lips or a blink of his eyelids.

“What about my knife?” he questions.

Dean shakes his head no. “Not until we find Sam.”

He doesn’t like it, but Dean understands. He’s never been one for blind faith either.

“And if you win?” he asks, already knowing what the price will be.

“I get to fuck you. While you wear _these_ ,” Dean says, pulling the corner of a pair of pink satin panties from his navy blue jacket.

“Are they—“ he starts to question, before Dean interrupts him.

“Sure are. You haven’t seem ‘em in years, I bet. But Baby’s kept ‘em safe for us, though they are starting to get a bit thin after…sixteen years.”

Dean pulls him to his feet then, and hands him a pool cue.

“Now, I know you could snap this in half and we could fight. And hell, you might even win. But look around you. This is not your 2014, this is _my_ 2014, so I’d suggest that you start chalking up the end of your cue and thinking about how you want to get fucked.”

He grabs the stick from Dean, and strokes it. Dean hasn’t felt the smooth glide of his hand down the cue in years. Still, he has a fighting chance; he knows himself and all of his best moves.

Dean watches as his other self grabs two of the balls, easing them down the green felt of the table in a single, non-interrupted line, before gathering the rest of the balls with his forearms. In three fluid movements, hands in fists at the top he racks the balls seamlessly into a flawless triangle. Placing the plastic rack over the balls to keep them tight, Dean rearranges them into a standard eight-ball ball configuration.

“I’ll break,” other-Dean says, and Dean leans over the table to glare at himself, as he watches his doppelganger execute the break perfectly.

“Stripes,” present-Dean says, and then continues to shoot. He pockets the next four balls, before missing one. Dean’s pretty sure that he overshot on purpose. He wants to see if Dean’s got any skill left.

Dean takes his cue and shoots. He makes the first shot, driving the solid green ball into the hole. The next two fall into the pockets with ease, but the forth one he misses by a mere eight of an inch. It sits right on the cusp of the right side pocket.

“Bad luck,” Dean tells him, before pocketing all of his balls, and calling the back corner before driving the eight-ball into the aforementioned hole.

Dean slides up to him carefully and transfers the panties into his pocket. Even in an almost empty bar two male look-alikes trading a pair of girls’ underwear is bound to draw attention if they’re not careful.

Dean escorts him to the one unisex bathroom in the back hallway, before saying “You’ve got two minutes before I’m coming in.”

He doesn’t saying anything in return, just glares from underneath his eyebrows before heading inside and locking the door. It’s a false sense of security; he knows that it would take less than fifteen seconds for his other self to pick the lock. And although he wants this, _god yes does he want this_ , he’s not going down without a fight.

Changing quickly, Dean throws his underwear into the trash, and leans backwards with both his arms and his ass resting against the porcelain sink. His legs are crossed and angled so that a slim crescent of pink shows above the waistband of his jeans. Clipping his thick black belt into place, empty holster on his thigh, Dean knows he looks hot. He’d do himself. Which is, oddly enough, about to happen.

Three pounds on the door followed by a harsh call of “Candy-gram,” resonate through the wooden door. Dean flicks the lock to ‘unoccupied’ before settling back into his previous position.

Present-Dean slides into the bathroom quickly, making sure to return the switch to ‘occupied.’  
He takes one look at Dean, and then wets his bottom lip.

“Lets get started.”

Other-Dean moves in closer, but it’s not until he’s got his leg pressed between Dean’s own bowed legs that he makes his move. He shoves present-Dean off, and tries to position himself behind Dean, so that he can be the one fucking into himself shortly. Instead, he finds his right arm pinned behind his back, left one cuffed to the faucet.

His other-self releases his right hand then and moves to cup his chin, forcing their bright green eyes to meet in the mirror. Champion-of-pool-Dean rubs his erection into Dean’s ass. Fighting has always gotten him hard.

“And here I thought we had a deal, sweetheart,” he taunts, grinning when Dean’s eyes narrow in response to the pet-name.

“Now, I had wanted to lick those pretty pink lips of yours, maybe watch them wrap around my cock. Because I imagine that you’d give me the best head of my life, better than our baby-brother, even. But, I don’t really have any desire to get bitten at the moment, so I’ll think we’ll save that for another night.”

“Fuck you,” he grits out. Dean smiles when he sees the reaction that he’s created.

“Don’t be like that sugar, I know you want it.” He reaches down to grab Dean’s already hard dick. It responds to the present-Dean’s hand like it’s his own. Traitor.

“Just fuck me already so we can go see Sam,” Dean says, looking at himself in the mirror.  
Dean’s other-self obliges, unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans along with the pink panties down, leaving them to bunch around his thigh holster.

“Sammy, was right,” he says. “We do have a pretty freckled ass.”

Dean opens his cheeks up then, and takes one broad swipe over his hole before pulling away.

He pulls back and laughs. Dean feels his muscle twitch in response to the presence of air against it.

“Fucking zombie apocalypse, you’re heading out to kill the devil, and you still have time to shave your asshole, Dean?”

Dean shrugs. “Can’t beat good hygiene.”

His present-self goes back to licking him then, alternating between using long swipes, and actually sticking his tongue inside, feeling up Dean’s inner walls. He’s got to admit, they do have a talented tongue.

“C’mon, Dean,” he says, slightly out of breath, “Fuck me, already.”

He hears the click of a cap opening, and then soft squelching noises as Dean slicks up his cock behind him. He pushes in slowly, and it’s a pleasant burn, but not as good as when Sam opens him up with his dick.

“Ugggggh,” Dean moans, resting his forehead against the apex of his spine after he’s titled Dean’s pelvis backwards and up to get the right leverage. “You’re so fucking tight, sugar. Haven’t let anyone inside you since Sammy, huh?”

“No,” he pants out as Dean starts to pull out and then thrust back in. Filling him up, but not making him whole. He needs his brother for that.

“Only ever Sammy,” he says.

“Yeah,” now-Dean says as he starts to slam his hips against Dean’s in a fast pace. Not bothering to pull all the way out before sliding back inside of Dean’s ass. “It’s always been Sammy for us, hasn’t it? You know, I bet he’d like it if we snapped a few pictures. My dick going into your pretty furled hole.”

“I think Sam would like it better if _he_ was the one putting his dick inside me,” he retorts.

“Yeah, he probably would, the possessive motherfucker. You can’t even imagine the glares I get these days when a girl hands me her phone number.”

Dean doesn’t really respond, because he can tell that his other-self is getting close to coming. He's annoyed because present-him has yet to reach around and put his hand on Dean’s dick.

“Did you forget the lesson that we _always_ make sure our partner comes first?” he huffs out, after a particularly deep thrust that rams into his prostate. Prostate stimulation doesn’t make him babble incoherently or lose his mind, but it does spike his sense of urgency regarding the need to come.

“Dude. My right hand is _your_ right hand. Get yourself off.”

He glares avidly into the mirror for a minute before his present-self leans forward and bites down into his shoulder.

“Sammy always got me off,” he says sullenly as he drops his hand down to spread the strand of pre-come that’s currently connecting the top of his dick to his stomach around his shaft with his thumb.

He jacks himself in time with Dean’s thrusts. With all the planning it took to find the colt and the devil, it’s been a few days since he got off. He speeds up, works his dick a little harder, presses his thumb into the spongy head, imagines that it’s Sammy’s big dick buried deep in his ass—and then he’s coming, white ropes of semen spraying the underside of the sink.

Dean gives a few last erratic humps, signaling that he, too, has reached his climax. He leans forward and presses their still clothed bodies against each other, letting his dick soften inside of Dean. When he pulls out with a squelch of fluid, leaving an aching pain in Dean’s ass, he says, “You know, for everything that Sam’s raved about our ass, it wasn’t quite as good as I thought it would be.”

Dean growls at himself. “And _you’re_ not as good, or as _big_ as Sammy.”

Present-Dean ruffles his perfectly spiked hair as he unlocks him from the sink. “Careful there, sweetheart, I’m pretty sure you’re just insulting yourself.”

Dean shuts up and takes his losses then, pulling up his pink panties, careful to make sure that his grey shirt covers the top of his jeans.

“Do you know why I’m here?” he asks for the first time. Not that he hadn’t wondered before now, but it seems like the opportune moment to ask.

“Yeah,” his other-self says, as he tucks his flaccid dick back into his jeans. “I summoned you. I’ve got a knight of hell to hunt down and I need you to watch over Sam. And you, er, well me, technically, are the only person I trust.”

“So this, this whole thing—playing pool, the panties, sex in a public bathroom was all planned?”

“Yup,” Dean says nonchalantly. “Now lets go grab you some new panties. Knowing our brother, I’ve got this tingly feeling that Sam’ll want to see you in green.”


End file.
